


Sober

by nekoschka



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: idk how tags work yet, this is not really anything, this is not really shippy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21818932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekoschka/pseuds/nekoschka
Summary: Andrew is sober now, but nothing has changed.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Sober

**Author's Note:**

> uhm, so i wrote this like 4 years ago and published it on my tumblr and i'm just putting it here now so my ao3 isn't empty anymore and i can at least claim to have written one thing

_He was supposed to be a side effect of the drugs._

The first thing coming to his mind is a string of colourful curses. Because it was not supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be different now. It was supposed to be gone. He ponders for a short while if he should comment on the bruises, but decides against it. He’s going to find out who gave them to him soon enough. Same goes for the hair and eyes. His gaze quickly sweeps the other three faces looking at him, before he takes off in an –admittedly hurried- attempt to get the hell out of there. And away from him.

Despite his short legs he’s the first one out of the door and after getting rid of those damned clothes that made up all of his possessions for the last few weeks he makes his way towards his twin brother and cousin and with that towards his car. If those idiots don’t stop staring at him soon he’s going to have to put his fist through one of their faces. Maybe he’s just going to do that to whoever was stupid enough to put that bruise on the star striker’s face.

Against his will his eyes find the other bruised boy again, but they don’t linger. He has to get a grip on himself. He just has to come to terms with the fact that nothing has changed. That this was never just a side effect of his drugs. He slides into the drivers seat and puts a demanding hand out. The keys dropped into his hand are warm. He tries not to care.

There’s a pained hiss coming from the rear seats. A hurried _Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t-_ and an answering mumble pretending that _It’s fine_ tells him everything he needs to know. He silently damns them both to hell and back. One for never using his fucking brain. The other for always insisting that he’s _fine_.

His patience finds an end as soon as his cousin tries to talk to him. He drowns him out by turning the radio on loud enough to hope to drown his own thoughts out, too.


End file.
